Creatures of the night. Viktoria Koshkina

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СКАЧАТЬ of this man the two-centimetric bull-calf smoked. He made the last inhale and having thrown the cigarette rest under feet, crushed. The stranger was similar to the biker. Clothes and a hairdress eloquently told about it. The leather vest which is put on on a naked torso was unbuttoned, and gave out on display a huge, roundish stomach with the black hair, a path going from a navel. As footwear black berets on a heavy sole serve. The leather bell-bottoms fixed by a wide brown belt on a waist. Yes what to list, all clothes on him were from leather, certainly from artificial, I understood it on a smell (about other smells I will keep silent). On a neck the choker lengthways covered with thorns is tense. On the head of the biker the leather bandana from under which down to shoulders the light brown, greased hair hangs down is dressed.

      – I am glad for you, – I indifferently hemmed and stepped forward. But the importunate interlocutor partitioned off to my way.

      – E-e., hang on. You don’t want to drink? I will adjust a woman for you, – the type wasn’t appeased; he pointed a finger at group of the people standing near an entrance to bar.

      The company consists of not many, five people. For three men two women. They are dressed as well as my annoying interlocutor, in leather, is a match for him. One of women carried the hairdress which is found seldom in the nature – a mohawk, but in this case it isn’t surprising. The lady with an exotic hairdress is dressed in a short leather skirt, on a neck a collar without thorns, the torso covers a red small topic without straps. I got such feeling that she simply pulled on a breast the shortest skirt in her wardrobe. Feet are packed into the stockings in a big grid and put in the varnished boots on a high stud, and on a face the deadly and awful make-up flaunts. Other woman looks more humanly. Long black hair, a directly going to shovels close a half of the face with a modest make-up. Black jeans, tiny sneakers on a small foot, a leather biker jacket under which the blue undershirt closing all maiden zones of bikini and a décolleté hardly disappears – here everything that makes a getup of this quite even the lovely young lady which to call the woman, is the same that to call a donkey a horse. I will give her about seventeen years, no more.

      – Doesn’t interest, – with irritation I waved away. Ask why I talk to him instead of striking on a physiognomy?! I came here not as strong and immortal which can turn a stone and as the ordinary visitor into dust. It is masking.

      – Well wait, – the man protested. – I didn’t even present myself. I am Mitya. And you?

      – You are gay perhaps?

      – What? – the interlocutor dumbfounded by my question, stretched the last letter “a”. His face accepted such ridiculous expression of surprise.

      – Clung to me as the pederast, – I told with the drop of loathing reflected in my face. – You haven’t enough your blockheads?!

      – Not, you that? I am as to the friend… No-no-no…

      Having kept silent, I bypassed a barrier in the form of the annoying punk-biker and went further. He waved on me a hand, having thrown in a trace something like: “Moron”, and went. Before doors to the bar I stopped, having postponed an entrance inside for some seconds. My look fell to the girl with black long hair to shovels that stays in the company of nonconformists who loudly laugh, impudently drink alcohol from bottles and swear various curse words. On her face the unwillingness and even contempt for everything that happens to her now was visible as though something, or someone forces her to go to the wrong way. The little rebel, one and a half meter in height, in a protest to her parents makes mad hellbenders, boozes to fray to “ancestors” nerves. And where this silly found out these morons. The girl stays, pretending that to her it is cheerful and good. She caught my eye, and we silently about ten seconds looked at each other in the face. Having understood that glancing were tightened the little girl hung the head, I entered the bar.

      Having appeared inside, the first that came to mind – punks on the street, and even that not absolutely pleasant type, not the worst subjects on the way for short time of travel to the Flamingo. I felt some strange smell as if one of drunken visitors fell asleep behind the most imperceptible little table, and died, and “aroma” of carrion dominates in the atmosphere now. But the others, persons interested to drink the cheap, diluted beer have a rest here despite everything. Such surprising, officer firmness. And where is the smell, garbage.? The bar counter at a distant wall is surrounded with a chaos of tipsy men on the right. One just barfed on another and a fight burst. The most sober, and on dimensions the huge character with a severe grimace, the height reaching two meters, grabbed with both hands of two robbers, burst foreheads of one about another, dragged up to an exit, kicked with a foot one of doors, and threw “a sweet couple” outside. All others stood still, and, seemingly, are afraid this strapper.

      The space is filled everywhere by the round little tables arranged with small stools. In the center a platform of a square form with a pole round the fat stripper in a blue wig turns. Rare ugliness. I like the women with a natural hair color, with a slim figure and big, expressive eyes.

      I approached the bartender.

      – Fellow, you know Sergey Sokolov? – I addressed to him.

      – Sorry, no, – the young man answered.

      The bartender looks like no more than twenty years old. When I started talking to him, he furtively raised the head, continuing to polish the glass which already was sparkling crystal purity. His tidy, beige apron, tells about integrity of work of the young man, and about it tells his diligence nearly to wipe in a glass a hole a dry towel, so diligent it carries out the mission. And I on its place wouldn’t try so for these morons.

      – Maybe you saw him?

      – Sorry, – the guy said. – But you can learn from visitors.

      The young man with light brown hair, a little gray, with big, blue eyes and long eyelashes, reminded me a prince which was stolen by awful trolls. His blue t-shirt completed a royal image and gave him big innocence.

      – You don’t wish something to drink? – wearily the bartender took an interest, continuing to clean a glass.

      – No, thanks, – I answered, looking round on the parties.

      – As you want.

      – And you why you are so sad?

      – I didn’t see you here earlier.

      – I wasn’t here earlier.

      I see. Usually daddy’s son like you look for entertainments in more decently places, – with certain badly disguised by offense and contempt the young man stated.

      – From what you took that I am a posh?

      – It is visible.

      – Hmm, – I timidly smiled. – What’s your name?

      – Me? Vasya.

      – I am Kolya. It is pleasant to get acquainted, – I gave a hand through a rack, the fellow unwillingly reaped it.

      I smiled to Vasily in a half of a mouth and went to study the territory.

      It is noisy around. Someone dances under hard rock. Someone loudly laughs at trite jokes of the friends. СКАЧАТЬ